Black Dreams
by thewakingworld
Summary: He's been stuck since that night. Frozen. Broken. How, he doesn't know. Why, he doesn't know. She said he does. She had left; why did it feel like his life had too? E/O, M in later chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Don't own anything, but bigs up to Dick Wolf for creating them!**

**Hope you like it. I think I'm far too invested in this, it's really not good.**

**And so it begins :) **

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"Detective Stabler?" the voice called his name from the chair across the room, a world away from him, "Detective Stabler? Are you with me?"

"_You know, El," she had said, "You know why…"_

"Detective Stabler, do I have to remind you again of why you're here?" the voice interrupted the memory again. His mind snapped back to the dark room, the cold, the incessant headache that pounded any reason out of touch.

"Huh- Yeah, I'm here," he coughed slightly, straightening up as the leather squeaked, "I'm listening."

"No, you're not," the woman unclicked her pen angrily and crossed her legs, "The twelve weeks assigned counselling is only valid if it's actually _counselling. _Daydreaming doesn't count. You _must _-"

"I'm not-"

"What was that?" Her voice was bitter. It stung to listen to.

"I said, I'm not...daydreaming, that is," he raised his voice so she would hear, "It wasn't a dream."

"What was it?" The counsellor relaxed, clicking her pen to the ready.

"I was just thinking," his defense sprung up again. He sighed - _he must try, _"It was a bad memory."

"Of what?" the counsellor was losing patience again, "The shooting-"

He laughed. They genuinely thought he had lost it. He shook his head.

"Detective Stabler, you saved that woman. She would have been killed if you didn't shoot. Everyone knows that. This counselling is just mandatory, you'll have your gun back soon enough-"

"It wasn't the shooting," he laughed slightly at how little she knew, "I was a Marine. I've killed people before. It wasn't the shooting. That's not the problem."

"Your wife, she had left you recently before the Ibsen case - the victim's name was Ka-"

"My marriage," his aggression tweaked at the mention of Kathy, "My marriage had been over for a long time before that. My _wife _leaving wasn't traumatising. It wasn't why I did what I did."

"The victim's name was Katharina, it's hardly a coincidence-"

"It wasn't her name," his fingers were digging into his leg as his voice nearly rose out of control, "It wasn't her name that got me. The girl, I don't know, she looked-"

"Oh," the counsellor interrupted, and for once he was glad for it. He couldn't think about it, not anymore, "How long has it been since-"

"Six months, give or take…" _One-hundred and eighty-three days, sixteen hours and twenty-five minutes. Give or take. _

As if he would forget.

* * *

He had been waiting for her to tell him. He was sitting on their - no, not anymore - bed, his presence barely interfering with the starched sheets. He had noticed before she had meant him too; his coats were all gone from the closet. So were his suitcases. _A plus B equals… _They had been in her bedroom, the wardrobes emptied, hangers jangling loosely with a phantom breeze. She had turned all the photo frames down. He saw. It made him feel nothing. He wasn't surprised. He hadn't expected to, he knew this was coming. He knew she would walk in any minute now. Waiting was common courtesy.

The doorknob creaked, he looked up. She stood in the doorway, her cheeks glistening in the evening light.

"I pressed everything before I packed it," she gestured one hand to the cases. He muttered thanks.

"I sent the kids to my mom's for a while. I told them. You should call," she was accusing him now, he had to bit his cheek to stifle the tendril of anger that rose. He rubbed a hand over his face and stood up. He threw the military-issue duffel over his back and went to take a case in each hand.

"Here, before you take them," she reached towards him, an envelope in her left hand. There was only a tan line on her finger now, a small reminder of nearly two decades. He knew he should feel something sad. He didn't, "I've signed my part. I'll get the door for you."

It took three minutes to get everything into his truck. Thirty seconds into the drive away from his old home, he realised he was going nowhere. He had no-one now. He kept driving.

He didn't realise he was on autopilot until he saw the door to the building. He knew the code, he had a key. It would be fine. He walked slowly up the stairs, focusing only on the slight burn as his leg muscles flexed and pulled him up eight floors. He knew the pacing - thirty steps down the hall, turn to the right. He could do it without thinking. The door was the same as usual, pull, turn the key a little left, a little right, pull again, push. Open. He could do it without thinking. He had to not think. He stepped into the cool, dark, stale air of her apartment. Empty. Empty. Empty.

_Sixty-two days, one hour and fourty-nine minutes. Give or take._

Why couldn't he stop counting?

* * *

His shins burned. His knees burned. His whole body burned. Breath came out in foggy bursts. His mouth was dry, his nose was raw. He had gone far today, away, away, away from all of _that. _It was getting worse than broken. It had been broken years ago; this was different. Kathy was more suspicious than ever, borderline paranoid. The kids avoided him, when he was there. He was avoiding them; more than that, he was avoiding people. Something had changed within him. Something was off.

This, though... this was nice. He only liked it when it hurt, only noticed how much he needed it when he couldn't. He understood that, yes, he was _literally_ running away from all his problems, but it helped. It gave him space, time to focus, time away from the real world. All he had to do here was keep his legs moving, keep his lungs breathing and, most importantly, keep himself from falling. He had other ways to hurt himself, ones which she couldn't see, ones which his wife wouldn't want to kiss and make better. Running had one more benefit: it made him tired. He had reason to be tired now, to not be at his best in the morning or at night, whenever it was that he would go. Being tired meant being irritable, hostile and unapproachable. She stayed away. It was good. What they didn't know was that it wasn't the running and all the pain it entailed that caused it. It was the other, ceaseless, mocking ache that made him like this. He hated it. He hated _her_ for making it. He hated that she had sparked it.

_Twenty-one days, nineteen hours and six minutes. _

How much longer?

* * *

"I can't…" she had begun. He turned from scanning the room for the face they had to recognise to her. She was perched against the wallpaper brocade, leaning slightly forward as if unsure of the ground she stood on. She looked defeated, and for the life of him, he couldn't tell why.

"Liv? What is it?" He held her up, pacing his hands on her shoulders. She was avoiding his eyes, twisting out of his light grip. He could feel the worry starting to tense his shoulders as she pulled away from him, face toward the flower arrangement in the corner of the room. Suddenly, she stood up straight, sniffed and turned back toward him.

"Oh, hm, sorry about that, felt a little sick," She was smiling weakly, only looking at the space directly over his head as he gazed at her evermore troubled eyes. He took her wrists.

"Liv, what's going on-"

"Nothing," she pulled back again before regaining her facade, "Nothing. Really. I'll be back in a minute. I promise."

She walked away from him, gathering her dress at her thigh with one hand, clutch in the other as she strode away through the masses of people. He watched her leave, lost for more than a second in the way her body moved, all covered in silk and fine things. He snapped out of it as she disappeared from his view, ducking around a corner. He felt like dousing himself in cold water - it was only the dress, right? It would be a crime not to admire her. He chose to ignore that he used this excuse every time. The list of badly reasoned excuses replayed itself in his head: _those jeans make her ass look phenomenal, I have to look; the blouse just asks to be stared at; her gym gear is just too flattering, no-one's supposed to look that good in lycra_. God forbid she wear a skirt. He'd be ruined then.

An Upper East Side laugh cut into his reverie, setting off a near inevitable headache. All of those thoughts quickly disappated...as had she. He checked his watch; it had been fifteen minutes. A shot of panic woke him up. _He could have gotten to her… _Damn, he hated Liv going undercover. He swore profusely under his breath as he near-ran out of the ballroom, opting for the stairs over the elevator to get back to street level. _Damn suit…_ His breath made white fog as he ran out onto the street. It was freezing, she wouldn't have stayed out here for long, that dress was barely a second skin. He fumbled in his pocket and dialled her cell. He waited as it rang, a little of his sanity disappearing the longer she left it. It rang out. He swore blindly, attracting the shocked stares of some bejewelled scarecrows making their way inside. He ran a hand over his face. He felt ill.

"I'm right here," a voice came from the shadows beside the steps. Relief overcame him.

"Liv," he ran over to her, "What the hell were you thinking? That perv could have been anyway, you weren't-"

"El," she was barely whispering. Her eyes stopped him again, "I can't-"

"You can't what, Liv? I don't know what's going on-"

"El," her cold hands held his face, burning the skin they brushed. Her eyes searched his face for some understanding. He was lost, "You know."

"No, Liv," his own cool hands shook as he held her waist. The fabric was smooth. She shuddered, "I _don't _know. I have no idea what's wrong."

"Elliot," she dropped her hands as she moved towards the ranks of towncars, "I...you...I can't-"

"You can't what, Liv? Where are you going?" She opened the door of one of the towncars, pausing as his voice rose in anger and frustration, "I don't know what's going on-"

Her fingers traced his face as if she was learning it, etching it into her memory. She paused on his lips. He could feel her trembling as he kissed the inside of her palm.

"You know, El," she had said, "You know why…"

He couldn't speak. He was on fire. All he could do was watch her close the door and drive away. The black sedan disappeared into the sea of lights on the avenue. He had lost her. He closed his eyes.

_Thirty seconds._


	2. Chapter 2

**Again, I own nothing, just appreciative of their existence :)**

**Thanks to every single one of you for reading. I hope you like it - please let me know what you think!**

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"...So that's next Thursday, the 27th, 2PM, Mr Stabler," the young receptionist finished clicking at her computer as she handed him the appointment card. He just nodded and slid it into his coat pocket while walking out the door. The pseudo-winter air bit at his exposed face. He pulled his collar up around his neck and faced the howling wind. The precinct was only twenty blocks or so from here... a walk would be something to distract him, maybe clear his head of all the bullshit he was being fed by that psychiatrist fool. He snickered into the thick wool of his coat at the thought of the session. He had heard it all before, all the breathing and calming exercises, all the tricks on self-restraint and exercising control. He knew it all. The psych obviously didn't know that. She couldn't even recognise that _this _wasn't anger. Unfortunately, he didn't have any plausible suggestions as to what it might be. He didn't _feel _anything anymore - no, he thought, that's not true. Everything… everything was just masked in some strange way. It was like he was trying to recognise words by feeling for them through a blanket; he just couldn't do it. All the normal shit was there, it was just completely and utterly blinded by whatever this other, waste-of-space ache was. He felt irritation rising in his chest and picked up his pace. He couldn't think about it all. His efforts, however strong they may have been, failed. _Turn around, _some voice in his subconscious was screaming, _do not look that way. _He realised too late why. He saw the line of black sedans first, waiting as they had that night; then he saw the steps; the golden, plush interior behind the glass doors and the stairs she had sprinted down as if her life depended on it. His feet miraculously kept him moving. The click of his work shoes on the cement pavement drifted away from him as his mind went back to the only memory of her he hated.

* * *

"_...What an interesting brief that was, Captain," he had said, sarcasm dripping off each word, "So full of objective and action."_

"_Look, Elliot, I know it seems futile to you," Cragen spoke with more than a hint of irritation in his voice, "But we need information on this guy. One undercover evening and we'll get everything we need - then you two can come back here and catch the guy for real."_

"_But why a ball? And why the two of us?" Liv pitched in, taking him by surprise with the last part._

"_Why, do you have a special evening planned or something?" he said, not catching his tongue on time._

"_No - no, of course not," she looked at him, part curious, part angry, "Do you not have to go home to your wife?"_

"_STOP bickering you two," Cragen interjected the rapidly deteriorating situation. His stare paused briefly on Olivia, a flash of - sympathy? - crossing his eyes, "You have to be at the Berkeley by 8PM, no later; your identities will by ready by the end of the day; Olivia, go to Sara in RD for your...dress, Elliot, I'm sure you have a clean suit somewhere; you must arrive and leave together…" _

_Looks were exchanged, bitter and annoyed respectively, before Cragen stepped in again._

"_Whatever is up with you two these days, leave it at the door. You're Mr and Mrs… Donaldsen tonight. Act it. Screw this up, you're both dead. Now go, I'm sure you have things to do."_

_Olivia ran out of Cragen's office like a bat out of hell, Elliot had to run to catch up with her. He reached out to grab her elbow as she turned a corner. She recoiled as if she had been electrocuted, some kind of mix of anger and sadness on her face as she whipped around to him._

"_What are you doing?" she shout-whispered, the words harsh but her expression soft._

"_I could ask you the same thing," he spoke, slightly taken aback, "What the hell is going on?"_

"_-What? It's - it's nothing, alright? It's fine. Everything's fine. Just leave it, will you? I have to go get this godawful dress thing now, ok? I'm going to be late-"_

"_Liv, hey, wait - the dress will still be there in five minutes," he walked in front of her, holding her sides this time, trying to get her to talk, "You have to tell me what's going on."_

"_I don't- I can't. El, please. I'm fine. We're… fine. Let me go get this dress," she pushed out of his grip, reluctant to stay there any longer than she had to. She seemed disgusted by him. His stomach sank a little as she walked away._

"_The car'll be there at 7.45," he called after her. Please be there, he breathed to himself._

* * *

_Elliot shook his shoulders to make the suit jacket settle in the mirror. He looked good, he knew that by his wife's arms snaking around his waist. He grimaced slightly._

"_Don't do that," he moved his arms from her to adjust his tie, "It has to stay clean."_

"_I'm not that dirty, El," Kathy spoke gruffly as she moved back towards the laundry bask._

"_I didn't mean-" he sighed after she walked away. The tie's knot was too big, he swore under his breath. He did it again for the fourth time; he had to look perfect tonight. It's for the identity, he repeated in his head, to fit the part. Nothing at all to do with the look of disgust on Olivia's face earlier when he had touched her. It sure looked like disgust. Either that or some deep, intense pain. He couldn't tell - but that was certainly not why he had tried so hard tonight. He looked sharp. A dark, fine charcoal suit, white shirt and skinny black tie… maybe it was a little MIB, but what the hell, it suited him. He smiled as he pulled out his cuffs. It would be fine. Maybe they'd even enjoy themselves._

"_I'm going now Kath," he called back upstairs from the front door, "I'll probably be late, you know how these retirement things go on…"_

_The door clicked behind him. He sat into the waiting car and felt something odd as it pulled off. Twenty, twenty-five minutes, all going well, they would have met Liv and be at the hotel. It would be fine._

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* * *

_

"_Are you ready, Liv? We're downstairs," he spoke quietly into his cell as he peered out the window towards the door of her building, "K, fine, see you in five."_

_He rolled his head back onto the cool leather as the seconds ticked by. He always seemed to be waiting for her, she was horrifically bad at anything to do with time - well, that was, when it came to him. He laughed sardonically and checked his watch. Three minutes and forty seconds. _

"_Goddam woman, how long does it take to put your shoes on?" he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes._

_The door clicked open, a flurry of air, and shut again in rapid succession. He hadn't even opened his eyes, he knew it was her. He could sense her scent from the second she opened the door, the cascade of musk and vanilla and cocoa that marked anywhere she was near. He breathed in as the car moved off._

"_Nice timing," he spoke, eventually opening his lids._

"_Glad you're acknowledging my existence," she smiled, apparently in a better humour than earlier. Or maybe just better at hiding it, under all that radiance and ohfuckme, what has happened to her-beauty she had going on right now. He was sure she had noticed his unnaturally gaping mouth as he stared. He couldn't even see what she was wearing, her coat covered everything from neck to toe… but her face...and her hair. She was phenomenal. Like this was any surprise, he thought, what did you expect from her? You'd swear this reaction would wear off after 12 years… he snapped out of his own internal implosion as she snapped her fingers in front of him._

"_IDs, El? Do you have them?" a small smile played at her lips, "I thought I had nearly lost you there."_

"_-oh? Yeah, yeah, no uh, of course I have them," he pulled the cards out of his breast pocket, "I've got the tickets here too."_

"_Right. Ok," she looked highly amused, "You sure you're alright, El?"_

"_Yeah. Fine." He turned to face the window._

"_I mean, we can stop for a minute," she reached over, hand on his knee. Don't do that, he thought. Eyes up, out the window, don't think about it. _

"_I'm fine," he placed his own hand over hers, trying to dull the heat, failing miserably. She withdrew and stayed silent. He sighed. The lights were getting brighter, the car was slowing down. He pulled at his cufflinks again as the car slowed to a halt. The driver stepped out to open their doors. Olivia shivered at the burst of cold air that took his place. _

"_Are you-" Elliot stopped himself. Enough, he thought, enough, "Time to go rub shoulders with some rapists."_

"_Be kind, El," Liv spoke softly as she stepped out into the early-winter night. He sighed and followed her. She waited for him by the steps while opening and closing her clutch. She looked too beautiful… this might turn out to be a long night. He wound his hand around her waist and pulled her close as they walked inside._

"_El, what are you-" her voice sounded surprised but her body stayed with his. He smiled._

"_Married, remember?" he whispered in her ear, "And darling, I think you've put your ring on the wrong finger."_

"_El, come on, we're not even inside yet," they stopped just inside the doors, standing to the side to let the other couples pass. He took her left hand gently and slid the thin gold band onto her left finger. She seemed to shiver, maybe from the cold metal. Her voice was strained, "Why are you doing this?"_

_He paused. This was not just to do with tonight was it, he thought. He looked into her eyes, pained and shockingly gorgeous._

"_Because I wantyou," he whispered, running the last two words together to hide whatever dignity he had left. I want to, I want you… she could have heard either. She could believe either. They were both true. Olivia stayed silent as they walked upstairs, through security and into the cloakroom. She seemed to shy away from his view as she took off her own coat, striding out of the small room before he could see her. He cursed under his breath; she could blow their cover by acting like this, whatever this was. He handed his own coat over and followed her swiftly into the embellished private room. His eyes scanned the room for his partner as he made his way towards the bar. This evening was on a slippery slope - all that shit earlier, plus the car ride and now he had lost Olivia in the masses. They hadn't even begun looking for the guy yet. He tried to catch the bartender's eye as he finished serving a woman to his right._

"_There's no need," a familiar voice came from the same direction, "Can I get a double scotch, straight up, for my...husband please?"_

_Elliot whipped around to look at her - how had he not recognised her? Then he saw, actually saw her standing there, leaning forward over the warm redwood counter. He couldn't take it all in at once - her legs, going on for miles, finishing with her self-tagged fuck-me shoes; her arms, slim, toned, long, tanned, gracefully bent to support herself; her back, completely exposed from the cut of the dress, her smooth skin glistening behind the criss-cross mesh design, disappearing into the darkness he couldn't survive imagining; her neck, her shoulders, her hair, everything… And still that face which, tonight more than ever, was making it hard for him to breathe. Not even because of the sheer perfection it was, but because of the hurt that he knew was lingering behind the smoke and mirrors. The one which he knew he had caused - although how, he had no idea - and the one which killed him because he didn't know how to take it away. He only realised that he was staring when Olivia slid the crystal tumbler in his direction._

"_Are you ok, El?" she asked, smiling despite her eyes, "You look nearly as bad as you did in the car."_

"_Me? Uh - yeah, I'm fine, of course I am. Thanks for this," he nodded at her and swallowed the measure straight, " 'is helps…"_

"_Really, El, you're no good to anybody sick…" she sipped at her own drink - vodka tonic, he knew it, something was up. Well, he thought, you're no good to me silent._

"_Liv, stop, really, everything's ok. Can we just go, get this over with?" he offered his hand to her as she duly stepped away from the bar. They moved smoothly into the crowd, watching prying eyes questioning their presence, making up the rumours they knew they would._

"_Anything?" Liv spoke quietly, her own eyes still scanning the room._

"_Nope. Nothing," Elliot sighed, "We're going to have to show ourselves off a bit more, I think; he hasn't taken the bait."_

"_Fantastic," she groaned, "I hate this part."_

"_Has to be done," he laughed at her disgust, "You're not a bad dancer you know."_

"_These heels are four inches, Elliot, you try doing the box-step in that," she walked in front of him onto the floor and waited for him to take his place, "Step on me, you're a dead man."_

"_I won't touch you," his tone lowered as they moved in together. It was slow, his right arm was supposed to be low. He breathed in for calm as his hand brushed gently over her nearly bare skin. She appeared to flinch, closing her eyes ever so slightly, "Liv, you 'kay?"_

"_Yeah, yeah fine," she spoke into his jacket, "Just these goddam shoes, that's all."_

_He could only nod, all his energy was taken up by remembering to breath and not stroke her back. He flexed his fingers out, inadvertently grazing her skin again. He felt her muscles tense beneath his touch. His stomach twisted - why was she reacting like this? What had he done to disgust her? She couldn't stand being near him, speaking to him, touching him… he cleared his throat as the anger grew._

"_You see something?" her head snapped up as she took it as a signal._

"_No - nothing still," he gave up, breaking his hold on her and walking off the floor, "This isn't working."_

"_What - come here! Where are you going?" she reached out to grab his elbow this time as he reached a quiet spot, "What the hell is wrong with you? You could ruin ever-"_

"_What's wrong with me?" his voice rose, words spitting out of his mouth. He pulled her into a side room, "You're the one who should be explaining themselves."_

"_What the hell do you mean? I've done nothing wrong. I'm fine," She leaned towards him, her voice straining, eyes starting to water._

"_No, Liv, no you're not. You've been off these past few weeks, irritable, angry, just generally cold. What are you doing - what the hell is going on?" He took her arms now, nearly shaking her as his own anger grew._

"_Elliot-"_

"_No, Liv, listen to me. Something is going on. Something's wrong. You've been so… so cold lately. Like everything…(I) do makes you disgusted. Like you have some kind of hatred for (me)... everything that is your life. It feels like we… it feels like it's about me. It's as if you can't forgive me for something but I have no idea what I did, Liv. I don't know what I did. I have no idea," she turned her head away from him now and tried to pull away, "Liv, just tell me what's going on. It's killing me. I just want you back. I want you to come back to me…"_

_He placed one hand to her cheek to try and look at her, try to see what she was feeling. She just walked away. Elliot clenched his jaw as he watched her shoulders shake as she faced the wall. She would hate him if he tried to comfort her. Seconds minutes ticked by. He composed himself and went to look out into the main room, searching once again for the face they were meant to find tonight. He couldn't focus. He could still sense her, standing still like a statue in the corner. She moved, he turned. She perched against the side rail, shoulders slumped forward, eyes downcast. She had composed herself. He swore internally, she would act like it never happened now. Her voice crackled._

"_I can't…"_

Elliot forced himself out of the memory as he heard those words. He had re-lived this part too many times, looking for some answers or clues to no avail. He blinked a few times to refocus and laughed slightly when he realised he had managed to walk all that way without getting himself killed. _That's something_, he thought as he climbed the steps to the precinct. Warm air and the customary noise of the bullpen assailed him as the door swung open. He rapidly tore his coat off and threw it on his chair, avoiding eye contact with anyone watching him. Before he could even look at the pile of notes on his desk - he had only been gone two hours, could they really have screwed this much up in that much time? - he heard Cragen's voice booming from inside his office.

"Stabler! In here, now," Elliot smiled bitterly and walked in on command.

"Captain. What do you want?" Cragen looked pissed, Elliot's snarky comment riling him up even more.

"You're on duty tonight, Fin's been called to Jersey for something-"

"What? No. Where had he gone? I can't-"

"I don't really care, Stabler, you're on. You know the drill, be here from eight. There's not much to do, count yourself lucky."

"You have no-" Elliot grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Cragen raised an eyebrow and Elliot shut up, jaw pulsing, "You'll thank me tomorrow. Probably get more sleep here than wherever the hell you're staying at the moment."

"True," Elliot sighed as he walked back out into the noise and crowds. He glanced at the clock - four thirty. He groaned and slammed his chair into his desk. This was going to be hell.

The clock was going even slower now than it had earlier - twelve thirty-two and fourty-five...six…seven. _What was that now, 184 and an hour, twelve minutes? _He scorned himself. He was definitely right. It had been excruciating. _Just like this evening… _He had spent the past - six? Seven? - hours filing case reports and witness statements. Joy. However bad that had been, though, it was nothing to the next eight hours of _nothing_. He sighed and laid his head down on the table. The place was quiet for possible the first time ever. He was tired, that was for sure, so much so that the hardwood desk seemed like such a better option than the cribs right now. His eyes closed. He could still hear the clock ticking above him. The rhythm seemed to lull him towards the darkness… Something was shining in his eyes, bothering his relaxation. His eyes flicked open, straight into a blinding beam of light. He swore and checked the clock - six thirty, what the hell? He snapped up and rubbed his eyes. The place was starting to fill up again, people milling, phones ringing. He straightened up and stretched his stiff back. He needed a shower and a real bed. Groggily, he grabbed his coat and walked out the door, if only for a few hours peace.

He didn't really know how he got here, but the apartment door was frustrating him again. He was too tired to get the sequence right this morning, it probably sounded more than anything as if he was breaking in. He probably... technically was. He laughed quietly to himself in triumph as the door released. He turned to close it, but something in the room caught his eye. The door clicked close. He reached instinctively to his hip_, _a new stream of expletives rising in his throat. He bit his tongue before anything gave him away. There was definitely something there. His breath was staggered. He moved quietly. The shadows gave nothing away. Something else moved. He stopped. It moved again. He felt for the light switch. Momentarily, his heart stopped beating.

"Elliot?" her face was hidden by her readied gun, but he knew that voice. She lowered her hands. He was frozen. _No... it couldn't... this isn't - _He didn't know what to do. He spoke.

"What the fuck have you done?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Olivia**

_Take your finger off the trigger, Liv, _her mind commanded_, OFF the trigger like a good girl, come on. _Her hands were shaking, she could easily shoot him without knowing. _That's it, put the gun down. Nice and easy. No-one's getting killed here tonight; or at least not by your hands. _She breathed and waited. Her whole body was now shaking. She could barely see through the vail of tears covering her eyes. She blinked rapidly, biting her cheeks to gain some focus. She released her grip on the pistol.

"Elliot?" she spoke more to herself than to him, trying to establish if this was just another dream.

"What the fuck have you done?" She felt like he had punched her. The tears came back again with a vengeance.

"Wh-what?" he stepped towards her, unsure, turning himself as if to avoid her stare. There was silence. Her breath caught in her chest.

"How are you?" she whispered.

"Don't do that," the words were soft but his tone was icy, "Don't pretend like you care."

"Elliot-"

"NO - no, you're don't get to do that. You're not allowed to now, not after all that time. Not after everything _you put me through. _I don't think you understand the pain you've caused me," he strode towards her, stopping barely a breath away from her. He couldn't say her name, but those eyes, he had missed them. He continued, barely able now.

"Do you know-? What kind of question is that, do you know, of course you know. You must have known how much hurt you were causing me. I've waited for you - one hundred and eighty four days, wasted _one hundred and eight four days. _I would have given up. I would have stopped this all - but not anymore, no, not now. I don't care anymore. I stopped killing myself by doing that a long time ago… you have no idea, you couldn't imagine.

No more pain though, not anymore. I'm gonna take control of this and tell you, you know what, you destroyed me. You've _ruined _my life. And no, I still don't know why you did it, I still don't understand why you felt you had to up and leave right in front of me. You have destroyed everything I had in my life - Kathy's left, did you know that? She couldn't stand me as much as I can't anymore. My kids are gone. Work fucks me over every day. I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror - and you know why? Do you _know _why? - Because I blamed myself for all of this. I blamed myself for making you leave, for disgusting you so much you felt you just had to desert me. I thought it was my fault. Not anymore, no - you did this, all by yourself…

And now you're here and now you'll act like everything's ok, everything's fine, life's exactly as it was - you know what? That's not good enough - not once did I ever hear how you appreciated me, how you needed me, how much I mattered to you - you knew it all from me, don't act like you didn't. Look how I get repaid - everything that mattered to me _left. _No - no, you can go find someone else to ruin - take away their life like you did to me; treat them like you don't need them, like they're not worthy of you - and no, don't act like I'm special now - you never cared for me when I was with you. Christ, you're addictive as they come, but I can't - I can't have you come back and break me, all over again."

There was silence. She could hear her blood pumping through her ears, drowning out anything else he might be saying, of which she was sure there was none. She was only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face. He stopped. His mouth was closed. He was just _looking_ at her, what was that? Still silence. She tried to think - say anything, _anything_. Her mind was blank.

_I love you._

No. Not yet.

_I love you._

NOT yet; it wouldn't be right. He shouldn't know.

_...I love you._

STOP!

She finally thought of something to say, aside from the obvious. Maybe he would know then.

"Imagine that," he probably couldn't hear her, but she continued anyway, her voice rising and falling again as she spoke, "Imagine. I was already broken, already gone. You didn't even notice. I left because… because I thought you'd realise, you know? You'd see, you'd open your eyes and see I'm heartbreakingly, irrevocably, dangerously _in love with you_."

Silence filled the short gap between them. She could feel his breath on her skin, warming everything so gently. She forgot about time, about the apartment, about the raging city outside… all of her thoughts and problems disappeared as she finally _saw _the eyes - the mouth - the jaw - the chest that she had deprived herself of for the past six months. Her breathing hitched. She couldn't talk. He stayed silent. She couldn't read his face; he looked like she had said nothing at all. Without warning, he moved away, breaking the imaginary contact. She felt cold. He kept going, eyes downcast but still facing her, all the way out of the apartment. The door slammed behind him. She heard traffic again outside the window and tried not to imagine him walking down the stairs, the walk turning to a sprint and escape routine. She tried not to count the seconds he was gone. She failed.

A single tear spilled across her eyelid, like the first raindrop of the monsoon season.


	4. Chapter 4

Own nothing except my own thoughts. I think.

_**Enjoy - please R&R!**_

* * *

**Elliot**

He had barely started to breathe again when she begun - had he actually said all that? What had he _actually _said? - he barely heard her voice over the sound of his grating breath. Her head turned toward him, breaking his own self-obsession. His breathing stopped fully - her eyes were on _fire._ Something burned inside of him as he watched and finally listened.

"Imagine. I was already broken, already gone. You didn't even notice. I left because… because I thought you'd realise, you know? You'd see, you'd open your eyes and see I'm heartbreakingly, irrevocably, dangerously _in love with you_."

He saw her in front of him, really _saw _her for the first time since she'd been back; all of her sallow glow, the lines and curves of her face, the shadows beneath her eyes and the sadness inside of them; the soft tresses of her hair as they settled around her face; the glint of her perfect teeth as she spoke; that _mouth; _everything he realised he had been yearning for. He paused time. _Could he be -?_

The scene moved away from him, out of his grasp. The images slowed. The puzzled expression came over Olivia's face slower than would ever be natural. Sound was hollow. He heard his breathing quicken, his heart race, his voice choke. His feet moved - walking? - away from her, out the door, down the stairs, onto the street. The biting air howled at him to wake up. He breathed again. _No. _He moved off, looking for the only way he could explain.

* * *

The key moved in the door as he had remembered - the world mustn't have imploded yet - but his hand shook as he coaxed it into opening. The other gripped a bag. He scanned quickly over the past hour, trying to remember what he had been thinking when he did this. _This isn't going to work, _he thought, _none of it. _The door opened. _That proves nothing… _His eyes jumped upwards from the handle quickly as he let the door swing open. He could make out her form, sitting in the far corner, alone, in the dark. She flinched slightly as the door shut again. His shoes clicked quietly on the rustic wood floor. She turned slightly to him. He moved into the kitchen. The paper bag rustled as he placed it on the island counter. She turned fully this time and stood, as if waiting for something to happen. He didn't look at her. The sound his hand made as it rummaged was magnified by the general silence. He felt the first. A dull thud echoed as it hit the counter.

"I wrote," he muttered, wondering if she heard, was listening or even wanted to hear, "It's all here, the time I lost. Most of it is accidental, means nothing. But it's everything I had to say to you…"

He sighed. He didn't know what he was doing, let alone how she could possibly understand. He stopped, leaning against the counter, hands spread apart, head shaking at the floor. She moved - one step at first, just one to confirm her curiosity, then a few more. He still didn't look. His hand dived in again. The second - hollow, metallic, sharp.

"They think I'm killing myself. They're probably right, but they've just got their reasons wrong - they think it's cause of… well, they're wrong. I don't know why I'm doing this, any of it, to myself… This casing - I shot someone. I killed him. Now they think I'm crazy too, for all the same reasons. He was holding someone - she was - she looked - I had to shoot. I had to."

She moved again, now standing in a pool of light flowing in from the street. Her features were mellowed, her brow inquisitive. She looked like she had been crying. His heart twisted. He pulled out the third - soft, tiny, barely there.

"I called you every day - probably every hour, actually - I tried to find you. Obviously, I failed… I think I realised that before I knew I did; I had to try and forget, then. I took this chip out thinking that, if I took you out of my phone or computer or whatever, I could take you out of my life. I forgot that I know your number better than mine and that I could recite every single one of your addresses - and I hated myself for it. I wanted to forget you so badly-"

Her hand moved to her mouth. He thought she was shaking but couldn't quite tell out of the corner of his eye. The fourth - heavy, dull, clumsy.

"I'm ruining myself. I run seven miles every day, yet I smoke - that's another thing. I avoid shit food, but then I don't eat. I drink a river of water, but I drink more of this… the Irish is the best. Scotch made me sick after too many weeks. This keeps me functioning. It does dull it all, you know? Makes you feel just a little more in control by taking so much of it away - it's ridiculous. It helped. I need help-"

He stepped away from her approaching body and took a glass from the closest drying rack. The whiskey was warm but it would do; he poured and drank in one quick action, relishing the comforting burn in his chest. He looked up. She was watching him. A single line varnished her cheek, marking her silent tears. She made him stop, every single time, how did she do that? He breathed in, sudden anger or something equivalent rising in his chest.

"You're not going to get it, are you? Sure, showing you the things that defined me for the last six months, they're good, but do you know what - what about the things I need now?" He stepped towards her. She didn't move.

"I need… I needed that drink. I need to be level-headed and calm and not do anything rash. I need to remember. I need… I need to _do _something. I need to explain this to you - explain that which I have no clue about - you get that though, don't you, that I'm totally lost? But I need to say something, I just can't-"

"Elliot," her voice crackled, "It's alright. You don't-"

"No, Liv, I do, I really do. I need you to know… how… how you're my only life," he breathed out, watching her for a response. She blinked. He continued, exasperated now.

"How did you do it? I never felt anything while you were gone. Life was... trivial? Every day was - nothing. Was it difficult for you? Was it painful, like it was for me? I dreamed that you were with me, every night… and then I would wake up, and every day the feeling was the same - a progressive downward spiral of loneliness and pain and brokenness. I hated everything about the day, only surviving it because I knew at the end I would have time with you, in whatever unconscious, surreal way it was. My life lacked…"

She reached out, halfway to his chest before second-guessing herself. His hand reached for hers. A shock ran through him, burning him from head to toe.

"You've caused me so much pain - made me so angry it hurt, made me want to cry, want to die... but I never feel alive without you. I never knew - I didn't open my eyes - I didn't see it until you shattered it all, once again, by coming_ back_ to me-"

"Elliot-"

"I love you."

* * *

"You know, I'm trying, but inside I'm really dying. All I ever want to do is be violent and sparked and for something to hurt other than - well, other than everything..."

_the air stood still, freezing as if to acknowledge those shock words. The world stopped to look in on them just like when someone drops a crystal vase on a marble floor in a crowded room. She - she was stunned. Something flickered across her eyes - hate, anger, pain, surprise, he couldn't tell - and then disappeared, leaving her blank. He was silent._

"This feeling I'm feeling, I can't name it, but it's stolen everything from me... It's as if there's some huge deadweight on my chest, making me sink, making me suffer. But I punt there..."

_A cab horn screamed outside. The tension snapped. She stepped backwards instinctively. He cast his eyes downward. She turned away, as if to leave. Some words were mumbled in his direction as she continued, something about the precinct - one thirty - act surprised - she wasn't supposed to be here. He refused to allow himself watch her leave. Not again. Never again. He let the door click softly closed as he bore his eyes into the floor, numbing himself._

"I'm so tired of it. I feel worthless here. No-one sees me anymore. I'm just a part in a puzzle, one tiny screw in the monstrous scheme of things. I have no-one. Then again, it's not as if I want anyone."

_He dared not squeeze his eyes shut less the flood behind them was let loose. He forget about everything an focused on what was there now, what he could feel now. His fingers were flattening as he gripped the countertop, his nail beds burning as the sharp edges of his nails dug in. The counter itself was a kind of inanimate warm, its surface smooth and knobbled at the same time. The street was relatively quiet for Manhattan. Doors were opening and closing in the building, signifying the start of a normal work day for most. He focused on his breathing - something disturbed him. A soft scraping somewhere to his right. His eyes snapped open and scanned the area. The door, there was something beneath the door. He moved toward the passage slowly, nerves fraught and unsure. A white rectangle._

"I never saw the need to make time before. Your arguments for me to get a life never made much sense, to be honest. I suppose it's hard for you to understand why - well, if you haven't realized why I left yet, it's hard - but I never wanted anything else."

_He flipped it over. Writing. It was hers - 'This was all I meant to leave. Please come later.' He opened the taped envelope. His hands were shaking._

"I'm going to come home and you're going to hate me. I know you too well, Elliot. I hurt you more than you even recognize right now. No matter what you say when I get there, I know you hate me, even if it's just a little bit. We have to start again, for the both of us. I let you down, and Christ you'll let me know, won't you? But I promise - I mean this El - I'm going to do everything I can to get you to forgive ms. Throw everything you have at me, every name you can think of, every one you've called me over the last 6 months. Say I was forgettable. Tear me apart. Tell me I'm unforgivable. Scream me to the bone - don't you think I've done that to myself already? Don't you think I haven't been killing myself because of it? I don't care what you call me. Nothing can hurt as much as being away from you."

He closed his eyes. The paper fell.


	5. Chapter 5

I owe you all a HUGE apology... I have no concept of time-keeping

Again, I own nothing, just my imagination :)

* * *

**ELLIOT**

He breathed in. The precinct looked different from the earlier light of morning - something had changed, something was new. He exhaled, trying to force out the butterflies he most certainly had not invited. He flicked over his worst to check the time - nearly there. He wouldn't want to intrude mm it all. It was going to be normal. One foot on the step - he had begun. One after the other, climbing the negligible height, reminding himself to focus and go forward. This strategy was working until the steps ended and he just stood above them, paused, alone. Do not unravel now, he said to himself, do not fall apart. "Strength," he murmured, "Today you need strength."

The door was colder than he had expected on his bare hand as he pushed it through to the bullpen. He cast his eyes downward, watching his feet as if to make sure they did his will. A thrill of nerves made him shudder. He hesitated momentarily before raising his head and stepped out, as if it was any other day. Just another day, he said again in his head, same as always. He heard voices around him, phones shrieking, boots clicking, all the triggers which kickstarted his mind into normalcy. He looked up and smirked as his entrance was recognized - albeit by fewer than he thought.

"Hey, Fin, where is everybody?" he shouted across to the bent head of his colleague.

"All out at the Chief's steps. Just came back to get my jacket myself - apparently we're all supposed to be there, I don'no," he shrugged the heavy leather on, "Someone's looking sharp today anyway-"

"Yeah, must be psychic knowing about this surprise even," he shrugged and threw down his own heavy overcoat.

"You coming?" Fin called over his shoulder as he started walking out.

"Yeah, uh - I'll be there in a sec, won't miss anything I'm sure..." he spoke as he walked towards the window, checking himself just once more before going.

Did he look good? His hair was slightly longer than the ultra-close cut he preferted; his stubble was growing on 3am shadow at this stage; his physique was that of ten years previously; his white shirt was pressed perfectly but he felt too Men-inBlack pairing it with this skinny black tie, the only clean one he could ind... He sighed. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. Nothing he could do about it now, anyway. He started to walk. Breathe, he reminded himself, breathe.

His shoes clicked their way down the hard laminated floor without him even thinking where he was going. Soon, his feet got cold - that is, his whole body went cold. The gusts of air tugged at the hem of his trousers as he walked still, slower now though. The door in front of him hid some concealed energy. A smile tugged at his lips as he imagined the scene, everyone standing, laughing and smiling, not even noticing the cold that burned their skin. Had he missed this? Had he been too miserable to even notice other people being happy? He didn't know - all he could do was keep walking. He stopped at the floor mat, placed his hand on the metal push panel before closing his eyes. He would be ok. He would be calm. He would remember to do what he wanted. The noise outside assailed him as the door pushed open. He stepped out, the door swinging closed as the wind took it. No-one seemed to notice; they were all crowded around something much more interesting at the bottom of the steps. He looked around, stunned by the amounts of people taking over the usually purely ceremonial steps and yard. Bodies milled together, some groups chatting together but most had their heads turned slightly to some focal point. People started moving in the opposite direction to him, shuffling inside maybe from the bitter cold or maybe some unspoken order. He stepped slowly down to the yard, deliberately taking his time. More and more people were leaving - it suited him fine. The small central knot of people began to come apparent; the tall bald head of Cragen, Fin's slick black beside him, Munch's silver head hovering at the back, chatting to Melinda and whichever of the ADAs they had at the moment. They all surrounded some central body - as if he didn't know who it was. He moved to join them and then he heard her laugh - bright, silken, molten gold drifting through the air - and his heart nearly stopped. Breathe, he reminded himself for the fiftieth time that hour, just keep breathing. Her hair flicked back as she turned - toward him - then it was her turn to stop...as they all did.

"Elliot," she whispered. Her voice was strangled. He jut gazed at her, her skin pinched pink from the harsh air, eyes sparkling, lips slightly parted in a half scared, half ecstatic expression. Insecurity was written all over her beautiful face. Everyone else's questions disappeared into a vacuum; all he could hear was his heart, all he could see was her. He smiled and walked forward.

Within a foot of her, her perfume overcame him. He just inhaled it deeply as he stopped, adrenaline flooding his veins, passion flooding his body. He hazily registered the group moving away to leave them alone. Her eyes looked pleadingly into his soul. She moved toward him, only a few inches.

Within a breath, he had to wrap his fingers around the folds of her coat to steady himself. He watched her expression darken and sparkle all at the same time and moved his hands as hers reached his chest. Her hair was silken between his fingers; they shivered as if rendered insane by the experience. She pulled him closer. He bent his head. Her lips move to murmur something as they met his... He could barely focus on the husky noise, his sanity gone with the barest brush of her. He pushed further. He couldn't wait anymore. His body was burning, this fire tearing through every sinew if his being. They finally made full contact and - and then, nothing else existed. The world crumbled around them, their lives disappeared, all time, all truth, all beauty, all gone and thy were only left in that perfect union. Glorifying electricity coursed through him. He pushed himself against her wanting body. Her hands were stroking his chest, back, hair, searching for the way through. His hands twisted around the tendrils of her hair. She groaned as he pulled, a little past gentle, her hips grinding into him in response. The fireworks didn't let up. Eventually, he pulled away, if only to stop himself from doing it right there. It took every available ounce of willpower he had to stop it, but he knew it wasn't the place. He felt a gust cool him again; they were back.

Her head dipped as she stepped back, her hands still on his chest. He was about to ask was she alright before she laughed quietly and leaned back into him. There was nothing to say. They stayed there, waiting for the clock to start anew, just holding each other. It wasn't escapist; this was real life. They knew what they were doing. They knew how much it still hurt. It was real. They were alive again.

* * *

**Please R&R, if you're not too annoyed at me!**


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